Unique monastery By Ziying
Publisher:The Star - Publication Date: 28-03-2008

As our group boarded the coach in Shanxi province’s 'City of Coal' Datong, the temperature gauge near the driver’s seat read 3°C. But it was bright and sunny, the cloudless sky a piercing blue and I expected it would warm up soon enough. Or so I thought.
Babylon might have had its Hanging Gardens but Hengshan, 65km south of Datong, has a Hanging Monastery (Xuankongsi) which I was told is quite awesome.

Little did I know Xuankongsi is in a gorge which forms a natural wind tunnel. As we emerged from the coach, ferocious icy gusts knifed straight through my winter jacket. After a couple minutes, I could hardly move my fingers and those unprepared for this sub-arctic assault made a dash for the vendors doing a brisk business renting out Chinese army great-coats.
The 1,500-year-old Xuankongsi began as a Daoist retreat, but over the centuries evolved into a shrine honouring not only Laozi (founder of Daoism) but also Confucius and Buddha. Comprising 40 halls, the entire complex clings to a precipice via an ingenious system of wedges and supports.
To my amazement, visitors are still allowed to climb up to the monastery. An architect in our group was greatly concerned, saying: “The wooden structure was originally meant to accommodate just a few dozen monks and hordes of visitors would eventually damage it.”
We proceeded up the steep narrow steps in single file and at each level, edged along the exterior verandas fronting small monastic cells and shrines containing sculptures of Laozi, Confucius and Sakyamuni and their disciples. The verandas are narrow – merely the width of a person, with low balustrades about knee-high. There are no safety barriers and a small accidental shove would send one hurtling into the gorge. I noticed I was not the only one who clutched at the walls, too fearful to even appreciate the view from our superb vantage point.
Some say Xuankongsi was built on the cliff to avoid floods from the river below. The site was obviously carefully selected, for despite the gusts on the ground, there is surprisingly little wind in the suspended temples. And despite the tourists now invading the site, one can imagine that the inaccessible location would have been considered ideal by Daoist recluses.
The highway to Hengshan traverses a familiar northern landscape of sparse, austere mountains, rocky outcrops and dusty fields. In a province synonymous with environmental problems, it was encouraging to see, on a hill slope, large placards bearing characters exhorting people to lu qilai, mei qilai, fu qilai roughly meaning 'green (the environment), beautify, and prosper'. Slogans like these are common all over China and in the spring, brigades of peasants from rural villages can often be seen planting trees in dusty, depleted areas.
We made an unplanned stop at one such village a few minutes from Hengshan. A long dirt path led to a mud-walled hamlet of homes with flat roofs. The path became increasingly uneven and narrow as we entered the settlement, until I had to flatten myself against a high earthen wall when a farmer passed by leading his mule-drawn cart.
We ambled towards a farmhouse with an arched doorway and arched windows cut into thick, whitewashed walls. In the spacious courtyard, a pile of deep yellow corn lay drying in the autumn sun.
Our unsuspecting host was a young woman who was preparing to cook lunch for her 83-year-old grandmother. We asked permission to look around her yard and she gave it without hesitation.
The interior of the dwelling, though modest, was clean and as tidy as the home of any house-proud urban citizen. It was divided into three sections – a small all-purpose 'kitchen' in the middle and a bedroom-cum-living room on either side. Below the window in each of the wing room was a kang, the broad heated oven bed of north China, used not only for sleeping but also for meals and all other activities of daily life.
Shanxi is renowned for sturdy country furniture crafted mostly from elm or walnut wood. Their unpretentious design and rustic style have made them collectors’ items both in China and in the west, and I was thrilled to see three beautiful chests, two of lacquered natural wood and a third with a vermilion coating, still in use by their original owners.
I asked our host how she came by these 'provincial' pieces and she said: “They were handed down by our ancestors.”
As we took leave of these rural women, I felt a deep sense of respect for their strength and self-reliance as well as humbled by their spontaneous hospitality. I wonder how many city-folk would allow strangers from afar to drop in at their home unannounced, take pictures of everything and poke around their property, then disappear as quickly as they had come.

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I wanna go there. Looks like a fun trek. Not for the weak of heart.